The Stray

Part 8 - Working For What End?

Here you go, a chapter. I know, I know, it's been forever! I wish I had more time to just sit and WRITE but I don't. It's rather sad, really, so I'm beyond happy that I've finally managed to make time to just sit down and do something I enjoy.

Hope you like the results!

(PS -- sorry for the wait. Seriously. This story updates ridiculously slow. If you're STILL here reading this, give yourself a cookie.)

~ Nezumi

WARNINGS:  There are some sensitive topics mentioned (NOT including abuse/past mentions of abuse), though nothing is described or talked about in detail, merely mentioned in passing.

WHAT DOES APPEAR:  there are some scenes that could be considered self-harm and might be triggering to those sensitive to this topic, so proceed with necessary caution. If you are having troubles with self-harm or have suicidal/self-worth thoughts, please, talk to someone trusted or call/text a helpline and do what you need to do to get yourself in a better place. You are important and deserve no less than the best for yourself.

Working For What End?

God. It was horrible. I don't think that ever  in my short span of life I've ever felt so guilty.

Shouta didn't really change. He didn't give me cold coffee or scalding either. It was the right temperature, as always. He still let me use his shower and sleep on his floor and keep the blankets and pillows I had stockpiled into a cozy nest.

He was still a kind man, and it made guilt drill into my heart, before leaving it as a pile of sawdust at my feet.

The kindness wasn't the worst bit though. If things had continued as normal, maybe I could have continued on with life, moved on, having convinced myself I had been forgiven.

But I knew I wasn't forgiven. I was so so painfully aware.

Shouta refused to look at him.

His eyes will stare resolutely at his laptop, or at his coffee, or anything but me. Like he was disturbed by me.

I've taken to staring at him from across rooms, hoping, wishing, that he would just look at me. A single glance would be better than nothing!

But no cigar. It's like the kind man doesn't know I'm there and I'm but some spirit haunting his living space.

Feeling depressed and guilty and like a horrible human being in general, I curl up morosely on the cold kitchen floor. I didn't deserve the soft blankets of my nest, not now, after I've so clearly made the kind man upset with me.

I wouldn't have done what I did if I had known Shouta would be dragged into my mess. He probably hated me but was too nice to actually kick me out. Now he owes his boss a favor, and he had to be dragged out to a whole other city to pick me up. A whole other city!

So I do my best to make up for it in little ways.

I take shorter showers, don't take second helpings, do the dishes both morning and night, clean about the house when Shouta's not there, I would have attempted cooking too if I didn't know I was horrible at it (I had melted a full sheet of cookies when I was younger-- don't ask me how, I don't know). Instead, when I am out of the apartment, I get food and bring it back to Shouta.

A bento box from a student's bag here, a pilfered candy bar from a store there.

I leave it on the table for him when he gets back from wherever he goes, (probably the school, where I now assume he teaches, hence all the paperwork he has). He eats it, but he doesn't comment otherwise.